The Spider Web: Master of Fear
by Lati
Summary: The Scarecrow has escaped from Arkham with an obsessive thirst for vengeance ... but truly that couldn't be all he wants. Dahlia will have to find out the hard way, all the while fighting the hardest she's ever fought in her life. The sequel to The Spider Web.
1. In Which She is Reborn

**CHAPTER ONE | In which she is reborn.**

As she gazed into the mirror, the mummer congratulated herself for arranging such a lovely costume. Beneath the black corset was a nearly black rust-colored gown with an inviting metallic sheen. The silk wanted to conform to the contouring of her legs, but thin support wires held the material rigidly into the graceful shape of a narrow bell. She made this garb herself, just for this year's Halloween. But of course, no mummer is complete without their mask. It had to conceal one's identity, and should she be identified beneath it, then the mask would be removed. And if one were to address this mummer as Dahlia Rhodes, then off the mask would come. A concept that may have bothered her in the far past, but one that she was no longer fearful of.

Eight months ago marked the most horrific experience of her life. The experience in which a madman able to contort himself into dear friend. A harsh, cruel, but well-learned lesson. But between that period and the present, he had been imprisoned and taken into Arkham Asylum. And the first domino fell that allowed her to grasp hold of a living and allow herself to become a part of society; whether this was because others now viewed her with fear or for genuine like was up for debate. But either way, the results were the same. She was no longer bullied, she was no longer harassed, and she certainly felt like a much more wholesome human being with a sense of future and motivation.

Regardless of the means, she was at peace with the ends.

"Dahlia! Hurry up and touch up your war paint, Girly!" Lou called to his beloved daughter. His experience with Dahila's recent past didn't change the man much, granted he was far more appreciative of his life and the lifestyle of his girl. Strange new friends of Dahlia's were prone to be scrutinized more closely, but he knew through the doubt that Dahlia would make good decisions with her social circles. Hell, she at this point in time had only kept one person around long enough to call "friend." He figured her pickiness would pay off, so long as she was happy with it.

Clad as the mummer, Dahlia hurried out of her bedroom, calling with a large smile across her dark lips, "I'm done, I'm done! And don't call me Girly!" She gave Lou a playful punch to the shoulder as she passed through the front door being held open for her. "I could have walked on my own you know. I'm sort of almost an adult, after all."

"No need, Pop's home and willing to chaperone, Girly." Lou replied, triggering a smirk and furrowed brows from Dahlia. With a gloved hand she adjusted her simple white mask over her eyes.

The Halloween party was in fact one week before the 31st of October and was being thrown by Dahlia's only real friend, Diedre, four blocks down from where she lived. As Dahlia and Lou walked, a conversation was struck beginning on a subtle hint of concern: "Pumpkin … Are you alright?" Glancing towards him, Dahlia replied with a nod, an eyebrow quirking at the outer corner.

"Yes. Well … What do you mean, Dad?"

Lou's eyes didn't leave the street. He shook his head nonchalantly. "Nothing really, Sweet Pea. Just concerned for your well-being."

"I feel fine. I'm not sick or anything."

"Emotionally."

A pause. Dahlia stuttered for a moment before clearing her throat and starting with a nervous half laugh. "That was a long time ago already. I'm fine." He certainly had become a bit more protective since then. She felt bad that he felt insecure for her.

"I know. But, those kinds of things don't just go away. What about those recent nightmares you told me about?"

She scoffed. "Purely by chance. I can live a normal life without any side effects, though. I know it won't ever go away, it was … bad. But, all we can do is keep going forward, right?"

Lou found himself unable to argue. He smiled, and nodded to her positive point. "Yup. But still, can't help but worry. Long as you're okay."

The two stopped outside Diedre's building. High up on the fourth floor, a row of windows were glaring with changing lights and music loud enough to just barely be audible from the street. A fluffy black bow was tied to the handle of the building door, a beacon for guests to enter. The two exchanged glances before Lou kissed Dahlia's cheek and squeezed her close. "Love you, be safe." She smiled and repeated the same to her father before entering the building. Lou waited several minutes before heading back home.

* * *

The party was something like a dance club, but with a lot more clothing involved. Loud house music, flashing lights, and a crowded dance floor. Dahlia wasn't expecting something quite so energetic. She wondered if Diedre's landlords would allow such a boisterous gathering, especially considering her large apartment was right smack in the middle of the building. Just as she was making mental note to warn Diedre of the repercussions, Dahlia's mind was distracted by the mood as soon as she entered:

Complete strangers greeted her, everyone speaking at once, and several nearby guests acknowledged her entry with a wave or smile. Had she not been masked, she would have assumed they were merely musing her for pity or guilt. But the greatest part was, she didn't have to bear that concern even the slightest mind. It didn't matter. Here, there really were no names. Just, costumes. Just, fun. Cowboys, Indians, mummies, witches, demons, ghouls, cops, robbers, vampires … and Dahlia was pretty sure one guy was dressed as a Vegas showgirl.

Diedre wasn't in the crowd, that she could see at least. After a quick scan of her immediate vicinity, she began to weave through the crowd, pushing deeper into the dance floor, where the music decided to be chiefly unbearable. Her knee-jerk-reaction was to leave, questioning why she came and why she ever thought this would be even slightly entertaining. But, Diedre was dear friend, and was genuinely concerned about getting Dahlia more social. And it's not like she was opposed to the idea, it was just a stubborn and slippery slope into being more outgoing instead of such an artsy hermit …

A sudden piercing cry from nearby sent dagger-like chills up her spine:

"**I AM THE MASTER OF FEAR!"**

As she turned to face the owner of the voice, a tall figure with talons raised loomed over her. Red eyes glowed evilly, and its stitched grin spread wide across its face. From within its tattered jacket, it retrieved a small spray can, aiming it towards Dahlia. Could it possibly be happening again? GOD, not again!

Dahlia emitted a piercing shriek and jerked backwards, and would have fallen flat on her back had it not been for the blocking torso of a stranger. A protective, strong arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her to the side to shield her from the ragged demon, booming voice rising above her whimper, "Knock it off, asshole! That's not funny!" Confused, frightened, and about a thousand more shades of every emotion in-between, Dahlia shot her eyes towards the Scarecrow, whose features suddenly became so more much fake. There was nothing more than a sack over his head with a mouth and eyeholes cut, with no attention to creative detail or accuracy. Looking at him now, he didn't look anything like _the_ Scarecrow. It must have come as such a relief that her eyes released tears against her strongest wishes to remain un-phased.

Having enough of a brain, the fake Scarecrow put his spray bottle of water away, defensively replying, "Sorry, man. Lighten up, it's just a party."

The man yet still holding Dahlia barked back sharply, "You don't know what people here have gone through with that maniac. Beat it!" The fake Scarecrow backed away defensively, muttering an insincere apology again, and the other dancers resumed after a few moments. The man finally released Dahlia, and when she turned to see him, she only saw a bulky Egyptian mask concealing his entire head, neck, shoulders, and part of his bare chest. The gold tone shone brightly under the various lights that streamed down, illuminating him vividly.

"Dahlia Rhodes, right? Hate to say, everyone knows about you."

Her eyes widened slightly, surprised that this stranger knew her identity. She slowly removed her mask, feeling more vulnerable now than before. The Egyptian gently clasped his hands in front of his chest and leaned slightly forward. "Forgive my rudeness.

"My name is Kek."


	2. In Which He's Back

**CHAPTER TWO | In which He returns.**

"Kek?" Still shocked but calm, Dahlia had a bitter tone in her reply to her muscular savior. "Is that supposed to be some kind of joke? God of darkness?" Her mythology trivia knowledge may or may not have been useful at this time, but it succeeded in upsetting her to understand the meaning behind the nickname. She didn't want to cop an attitude, but her mouth had run away before her brain caught up.

So-called 'Kek' released a half chuckle. "You know your Gods. But, yeah, I would prefer not to disclose my real name for now."

"Okay, sure." Dahlia nodded and replied dryly. Embarrassed, she muttered, "Thanks," before pushing her way back through the crowd towards the door to leave. A few moments later and gentle fingers wrapped around her upper arm.

"Wait." Kek tried to plea, but Dahlia kept walking, pulling her arm stubbornly away from him.

"I'm going home. I don't want to stay." She replied, but once again he took her arm, this time more firmly as he successfully halted her.

"Hang on, please listen, Dahlia." Kek took her opposite shoulder and turned her to face him. Like a child being scolded, she looked into the shadowy eyes of his mask with an impatient expression painted across her face. "I don't want to hurt you or make you upset. I'm sorry that happened. I just want you to know at least before you go that I get it. Trust me, I understand." His words set off a most unexpected memory in her mind, causing his next words to fall unnoticed: Crane looming over her at his home, having her pinned viciously to the floor, pulling off that hideous scarecrow mask and telling her, _I understand your pain, Dahlia, and I want to help you_. Without having a chance to realize where she was again, she replied blankly staring ahead,

"Liar." It was difficult for her to accept that any other person could have understood her pain. Her trust being taken advantage of, getting brainwashed by a merciless criminal, twisting affection and manipulating her into his own nefarious plot. It was such a deep level of trickery that she egocentrically assumed no others would truly, deeply understand.

Knowing that winning trust from Dahlia right now was impossible, he sighed with defeat and offered, "I won't push it, Dahlia. You've been through a lot of pain and I won't touch it anymore. But please, don't let a bad swell ruin your night. Would you like something to drink? Just one?" He was trying to be kind. Dahlia mulled it over silently. Kek added, "I'll even _maybe_ take my mask off if it makes you feel better. For realsies." Dahlia wasn't in the laughing mood, but appreciated his efforts. She gave half a small smile and nodded, letting herself be okay with him. Soon as she nodded, his voice said with an audible smile, "Okay, don't move, be right back."

A minute went by and Dahlia glanced to the bar at the far end of the room, which was made up of Diedre's island counter and a long row of folding tables covered with every beverage and cup known to the state. College kid's paradise. Kek was fiddling with a few different ingredients, moving with a pleased energy in his motions. Taking a few moments to let the appreciation of his attempt at nice words soak in, she shook off more of her embarrassment and headed towards him. Behind him, she tapped his arm.

Kek's shoulders jumped as he turned. "Woo! Scared me!" In each hand he carried a cup of some sort of sparkling, clear mixed drink. Offering one to her with a brief nod, Dahlia accepted it without hesitation and took half a swig. Then with a smirk she said,

"I'm a sly one." The punch-like mixture was crisp and had a real kick to it; good thing she was going to walk back home. Seeking a short-term solution to the little incident, she chugged down the rest of the liquid, eager to get at least a buzz to take the edge off. Sighing with refreshment, she placed the cup down onto the counter and directed her attention back to her new host. "So, listen. Thank you for defending me and everything. I do appreciate, and I'm sorry for the attitude earlier. But, I don't think I'm going to stick around long. I didn't really want to come much in the first place, but Diedre twisted my arm."

Kek seemed completely fine with the decision this time around. "Alright, Dahlia, no problems. Will I see you again, I hope?"

Dahlia chuckled as her cheeks tinged pink. "You might be able to twist Diedre's arm into giving you my number." She could almost sense the smile behind Kek's mask as he replied,

"Then I will see you soon."

Nodding a goodbye, Dahlia turned but quite unexpectedly tripped on a step to the lower level dance floor and nearly fell flat on her face had Kek not swiftly caught her. With one arm securing her around the middle and the other taking her shoulders, he pulled her back up to her feet, having to hold her limp body. "Whoah there! You okay?"

Her eyes fluttered to regain sight and she emitted an odd groan. "Uh … Y-Ya. That's … That's weird. I'm suddenly dizzy … That's … so weird."

"Lightweight, huh? Can you stand?" She tried, but her legs were limp. She shook her head weakly, now even more embarrassed than before. "Okay, hold on." Kek carefully scooped her legs up and carried her towards the back hallway that would lead to the bedrooms. Dahlia's head rocked without any support to fall onto his shoulder and then rolled backwards. Her entire body was washed over with warmth and tingling.

In a quiet, unoccupied bedroom, Kek laid Dahlia down gently on the bed as she took several deep breaths. The moonlight softly streamed in through closed blinds and gave the space a cool, blue glow, neutralizing all warm hues. Another figure had followed them back, a boy dressed as an army medic, his face green and black with paint and his head covered by a military helmet with a red cross on the forehead. A white medicinal tin was strapped over his shoulder. He closed the door behind him and locked it. The medic came up to Dahlia and placed a hand on her shoulder as he questioned Kek, "Hey bro. What's up with your friend here?"

Kek responded with concern, "I don't know. She just stumbled and said she was feeling dizzy."

Dahlia's head was spinning. Her senses were clouded and every time her heavy eyelids opened, the scenery around her seemed to pulse and bulge in tune with her heartbeat. She felt drugged, and it raised her concerns, vastly. It was an all too familiar feeling that made her immediately suspect the obvious. She heard stories from a few of her more naïve and gullible acquaintances expressing concerns in getting "roofied" at the wrong kind of parties. Some times where the threat was so great that they would never leave a drink unattended for even a second, and would navigate through the party with their thumb covering the opening of their drink bottles.

This, however, wasn't that. It was far too familiar to be that. She cursed herself for being so careless.

A fuzzy noise interrupted her mushed thoughts and after a moment of concentration, she managed to make out the words, "… is permanent. This one dose should do it."

Then the other spoke: "Then the deed's done. Okay, let's do it."

God, this again.

Forcefully opening her eyes again, Dahlia focused on the blurred images before her. What she inferred was the medic was going through his tin box laid out on the nearby dresser, and pulling out a syringe of some kind. A transparent gold-ish yellow liquid was inside. He came over to her while Kek pulled the sleeve on her arm up to her shoulder. Oh god. Oh god oh god.

Dahlia panicked. She shouted as a knee jerked up and smashed into Kek's mask, crushing the dog-like face inwards and hearing him cry out as he pulled away. "Shit!" The medic, startled, pulled the needle away and received another surprise to the groin. As he fell, Dahlia rolled to her side and fell off the bed onto her chest, knocking the wind hard out of her lungs. With desperate efforts she tried to crawl away, but whatever they drugged her with had a strong hold around her motor skills and coherency. She could make out hardly anything in front of her, she didn't even know if the door was in the general direction, but she moved away best she could. It took only seconds for two sets of arms to grab her and yank her back towards the bed. She screamed again.

"What the _fuck_ is going on in there?!" Diedre's voice shouted from the hallway, along with several pounds on the door and a rattle of the door handle. Kek and the medic immediately released Dahlia, her limp body sliding off the side of the bed and collapsing in a fetal position at its end. The two made a break for the window.

"**_DIEDRE!_**" Dahlia screamed again. She couldn't move anymore. No more than thirty seconds later and louder, heavier pounding came to the bedroom door. After the fourth hit, wood shattered and the lock flew off and the door finally flew open, several male party goers and Diedre waiting behind it. She rushed in, tears streaking down her face, as she clutched Dahlia closely while the others ran to the open window.

Kek and the medic were already off the fire escape and gone.

* * *

"He called himself Kek. He refused to give me his real name, whatever lie that would have been. He was in an Egyptian costume, gold mask of Anubis. Maybe six feet tall, built, white guy, average skin tone. Umm … No tattoos, no piercings. The other guy was dressed like an army medic. Didn't get to see much of him, I was too drugged up. Looked shorter, skinny. But that's all I know."

It took several hours, but Dahlia's head finally stopped spinning. She was seated on the edge of the bed in the same room where she was almost injected with … who knew what. Several police officers were scouting the apartment, one questioning Diedre out in the living room, while Detective Gordon spoke with Dahlia.

"Diedre said that she didn't even invite them or knew who they were. She said she just assumed a friend invited them. It was a pretty open guest list. I have no idea why they would want to hurt me. I didn't know who they were either. Maybe ex-students of, you know. Or something. I don't know."

Her father was sitting by her side, hunched forward with his elbows rested on his knees as he stared towards his shoes. "Bastards haven't put you through enough. Jesus. If ever I were to find out who they are …"

Gordon raised his hands for peace. "We'll do everything we can, Lou. They won't get away. Now, with your permission, I'd like to ask Miss Rhodes a few questions in private." Lou hesitated, then nodded and left the room. Dahlia watched as Gordon quietly closed the door and took several steps towards her. His eyes went towards the floor as he contemplated his next words briefly. When they lifted to meet hers, he began, "By your look a few minutes ago, I'd say you haven't heard the news."

Dahlia slowly shook her head. She was still young and still a little naïve at times, but smart enough to piece together what _must_ have been going on. Tension skyrocketed and she could feel her heart suddenly pound into her taut throat.

"Three inmates escaped Arkham the other day. We believe two of them were here tonight."


	3. In Which Nightmares Return

**CHAPTER THREE | In which nightmares return.**

_Don't go anywhere alone. Don't talk to strangers. Don't leave the apartment without letting Dad know where you're going._

Those were only a few of the specific instructions Detective Gordon gave Dahlia after letting her go back home. With both Crane and two other psychotics lose in the streets, one could only imagine what horrors some poor unsuspecting civilian would face. Notices and warnings were already posted in every shop and police station within 100 miles of the city. Not that it mattered much in town: Gotham citizens were gleefully dismissive of serious trouble until the lucky moment where it would become too personal. Two violent and unstable lunatics were enough, but the Scarecrow was the worst of the worst. A lifetime of scientific knowledge and cunning trapped in a young man's body with a blood thirst for power, vengeance, and chaos. He was so much more dangerous than Gotham would fathom. And as horrific as her prior experiences with him were, she knew that his full potential had not yet been exercised. Things could have been worse. _So_ much worse. All things considered, she was lucky.

Lou slipped off his shoes and went to rest on the couch as Dahlia took refuge in her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Cat sat up, adjusting her black feet to be perfectly lined up next to one another as she watched her human with wide, icy blue eyes. She let out a soft, high-pitched mew. Dahlia slid her hand across Cat's spine before undoing her corset clasp by clasp and allowing it to fall to the floor. Then off came the gown, shoes, and embellishments before she adorned a comfortable tank and long skirt.

She dropped her body into the chair at her desk, allowing her posture to fall in relaxation as she took a deep breath and released it. There was so much yet nothing at all passing through her head. How on earth could he have escaped Arkham? Wasn't it the most heavily guarded facilities in the state? It made her first wonder how incompetent the staffing must have been, but it also was a reflection of Crane's guile and ability. It must have been a carefully planned and executed escape, and she very much doubted that the two others were just random tag-alongs. They were clearly in on whatever scheme he was hatching, down to finding her at Diedre's party and trying to inject her with who-knew-what that vile yellow formula was.

A loud crash from outside the window startled her idling thoughts. Hollow tin clattered against the brick walls of the buildings and echoed for several strenuous seconds. Cat hissed and leapt off the bed to hide behind the dresser, and Dahlia – rather than investigate the noise – backed away towards the bedroom door. Was probably a stray dog or cat in the alley, but she was too on edge to want to shrug it off just yet. She sought out her father for reassurance.

"Dad!" Taking a few steps out to the hallway she called out, and was taken completely off guard when the door behind her shut rapidly. As she spun around, the Scarecrow's clawed hands clamped down on her shoulders and squeezed painfully. His mouth opened, shouting something, but the ambient static ringing of her panic drowned out all else.

Cat meowed loudly into Dahlia's ear, stirring her from her nap, before licking the salty sweat from her forehead. A moment later and she jumped off the bed and waddled off towards the dresser. Dahlia exhaled her frozen breath before sitting up fleetly, eyes widened.

The sun had just barely set, leaving only a tinge of light kissing the walls outside her window. Regaining her sense of reality and mustering the energy to meander around the apartment, Dahlia sought out her father. She already figured he wasn't home with how quiet it was; if he was, he would have been couch surfing or tinkering with some electronics or something. A note on the kitchen counter caught her eye:

**_Shopping errands. Stay home and keep the doors locked. Will be home as soon as possible, love you._**

Well … great. Just when she was hoping for some reassuring company … Although something else was off about her home. Clocks were off, light from her neighbor's windows were off, and instead of the gentle hum of the air conditioning or refrigerator, the air was silent. The power was off, and looked like it was for the whole block. Great. Good thing the weather was pleasant enough to tolerate.

Inexplicable to her, Dahlia felt … quite dreadful, for some reason. It wasn't like she was a technology addict or a neurotic, but the lack of ambience was nerve racking. Living in the city, she never noticed how truly noisy it was and how conditioned she was to it. Anywhere someone went, there was some sort of sound in the air, whether it was cars passing by on the street, rickety doors, AC units, white noise, or even that tremendously faint hum of street lights. At present moment all she could hear was infrasound and her own heart beat.

The silence got old quick. When Lou didn't return within thirty minutes, Dahlia made her choice.

_Well … A twenty-minute trip to the library won't hurt …_

* * *

The local library was pretty much completely empty. It wasn't the most lavish or ornate facility, but its size and contents were popular amongst neighbors and students. Under its several-story high dome ceiling were cheaply carpeted floors packed with hundreds upon hundreds of blocky wooden bookcases. Each branch of hallways lead under a high arched doorway to various grand rooms of thousands of books. The faint smell reminded her of stale vanilla wafers.

Wandering aimlessly for a few moments, Dahlia pulled herself down a hallway leading to the psychology section. She roughly scanned the book titles looking for anything that would catch her attention. First one; "Mind and Cognition." She placed two fingers at the top edge of the spine and pulled it out. Flipping through a few pages, she found it to be more boring than anticipated and placed it back on the shelf. Next one; "Psychology of the Self." She pulled it halfway out before deciding that she didn't want to do a self-analysis. She pushed it back into place. The third book she looked at began to stir up a myriad of puzzling thoughts; "Love Sick: Love as a Mental Illness."

Slowly, very slowly with hesitation, Dahlia took the binding firmly in the tips of her fingers and pulled the book out. She rested it in the curve of her palm and flipped through the first couple of pages.

"I would highly recommend 'Interpersonal Rejection.' " A known voice spoke as an unknown hand reached from behind to offer a book. Feeling offended and that her thoughts were intruded upon, Dahlia turned to meet a person she never saw before, yet somehow was familiar. It was a young man, fair skin, standing a little less than a foot over her. The brown eyes were deeply set, dark brown hair cut short and neat. He was built well, athletic and intimidating. His lips stretched into a grin, showing off straight, white teeth.

The familiar voice registered half a second later, and as Dahlia turned to flee, Kek snatched her forearm with his tough, powerful hand. "Whoah there!" His tone was entirely too friendly. Her free arm swung a fist towards his nose, but Kek grabbed that arm as well and chuckled, leaning closely, menacingly. "Dahlia, I've lived a long time in the slums, you'd think- OOF!" Most unexpectedly, the girl interrupted him with a hard head butt. His entire head fell back and his grip loosened just enough for Dahlia to rip away and start sprinting down the hall.

"HEY!" Another figure slid out from behind a bookshelf at the end of the hall, blocking her only path away. Dahlia almost tripped and tumbled forward as she came to a dead halt. "Dr. Crane was right about you. You _are_ pretty feisty for a skinny little shrimp!"

"… Crane?"


	4. In Which It Is Again

**CHAPTER FOUR | In which it is again.**

This second person looked only a few years older than Dahlia and much younger than Kek, and was much more lithe and slim. His waving hair was choppy and short, dark eyes shining in such an odd way that it perturbed her. "Yeah. He said not to underestimate you."

Finally she recognized him: The medic from the party.

"Nice late entry, Art." Kek approached from behind Dahlia, looking down at his hand after running it under his nose several times to check for blood. He stopped a short distance behind her and looked back up to her, smiling again. She sneered, panicking inside. "Dahlia, I don' think you've been formally introduced to Artemis. Great with medicine, expert in, ehh … 'offense.' " To this comment, she looked back to the boy, who gave a lopsided, twisted smile. Looking back to Kek, he continued, "And my real name is Jack. Sorry about the deception."

"So … What? 'That's okay, let's be friends'?" She hissed back angrily.

"Well, it would certainly help out." Jack's smile spread into a grin as his feet took slow, idling steps towards her. "We need you. And contrary to what you probably assume, we don't want to hurt you." He continued on. She wasn't paying attention anymore, too preoccupied with glancing around for a way out. There was no way she'd be able to squish past either of them, and she knew she couldn't take them head on, Jack at the very least. Eyes casting upwards, there were about four feet of free space between the tops of the bookshelves and the ceiling, just enough room for someone of her size to slip though easily.

Like lightning she ran towards the shelves and scrambled up it like a panther, books flying off with each step of her foot. Jack and Artemis both exclaimed in surprise and dashed to grab her heels: Jack got a whack in the temple by Dahlia's heel while Artemis reached for her a moment too late. They exchanged panicked words as she moved up and over, then ran to opposite ends of the corridor to follow as she slipped over the other side ... yet did not let go. She waited strategically until both were occupied trying to get to the next aisle, then pulled herself back over and hopped down to the floor right where they had been. She sprinted to the nearest exit.

"Where the fuck did she go?!" Artemis' voice shrieked.

"She's on the other side!" Jack called back, his voice calmer than his unstable counterpart as he ran back towards the prior aisle. But of course, Dahlia was not there.

She never looked back to check her trick, nor did her pace slow as she made her way back home. Over and over again her brain called her an idiot for leaving. Completely foolish, idiotic, stupid mistake.

Back at the apartment in a matter of minutes, she swung the front door open and entered in a rush, too afraid to call for her father but seeking him out visually in every room. The power was still out and nightfall provided hardly any moonlight to guide her. Now all she could hear was the heavy pounding of her heart and her own panting breaths.

As she reached for the edge of her bedroom door to pull it shut behind her, it swung closed on its own, slamming shut and rattling the windows.

Behind it stood the grim and ghoulishly clad, ragged figure of The Scarecrow.

The mask covering his head was precisely the same as he had clad before, burlap with twine stitching. Only now he had fashioned a complete costume, with matching burlap pants, tunic, vagrant-worthy worn leather shoes, a knee-length coat, and a wide-brimmed hat. He truly did look like something out of a southern cornfield, and yet for such an appearance that one could even call silly, it terrified Dahlia. Here was here, in her apartment, again. A well-known madman, with a dangerous following.

It was difficult to look at him, but even more difficult to hear his silken voice. "Dahlia, Dahlia, my love. Finally, after eight long months apart, we are together once again."

He stepped forward, hands out, but she shuffled back. The fear seized her muscles to the point of barely being able to move. "Oh, come now, Dahlia. I know how you feel about me." He was very close now; he could have reached out and grabbed her already. But he didn't. He wanted to toy with her first. He wanted to take in every inch of her terror.

"You are nothing to me." Finally she was able to respond, eyes watering up.

"Oh? You've a new male to rely on then? Hm?" The shift of the cloth over his face hinted towards a smile. "Is your new Prince Charming a man of chivalry and virtue? A man of the mind?" A brief monologue later and he had backed her up into the kitchen counter.

"What … Do you want? Revenge against me is useless. I don't have anything you want. I'm only one person."

Crane's eyes narrowed with sarcastic curiosity. "Only one person, you say?"

Her arm lifted into the air and she brought her elbow as hard as she could at Crane's shoulder, but he had caught her arm and spun her around, flinging her to the hard floor with a grunt. She crawled quickly, trying to get away as she heard his footsteps nonchalantly follow her. Lou kept a handgun hidden in every room in case of those types of situations, and Dahlia knew there was one taped under the coffee table. It pulled off easily enough, and once armed she pivoted onto her side and pointed it straight at Crane's face, who paused in his steps. "**Stay back!**" She barked, as she continued to pull herself back, too scared to lift herself off the ground, sitting up against the couch, never taking her eyes away from his.

Only that pause, but he continued forward. The gun in Dahlia's shaking hand never wavered from its target. "**Stop!**" She tried again to subdue him. "You will not get another warning!" Directly over her now, he crouched down slowly until the barrel of the gun was resting on his chest. They were both silent, staring directly into each other's eyes. The answer to what she should do seemed so obvious but in the moment, she was at a loss for words and actions.

"**SHOOT ME!**"

He commanded forcefully. It startled Dahlia to the point of her arms relaxing, finger falling from the trigger. An onset of gentle sobs escaped her as her eyes shut tightly. Quickly he snatched the gun from her and then a moment later she felt the barrel press against her cheek. Muttering a nervous cry she opened her reddened eyes and looked up to him, lips quivering. Quietly he said, "These bullets aren't meant for you, Dahlia. I have more use for you than that. But if you don't cooperate with me, they'll be meant for your father."

No hesitation came with her pleading reply; "Don't hurt him. I'll do anything you want, just don't do anything to him."

The Scarecrow pulled the gun away from her head and let it relax in his arm, pointed towards the ceiling. His blue eyes lit up, replying with malicious glee. "Terrific!" Standing he shoved the gun into the back of his belt, then leaned down and grabbed the back of Dahlia's blouse. "I'm so glad we're together again, Dahlia. Did I tell you that?" Like a caveman he headed out, dragging her behind him on the floor. No matter how she struggled and kicked out, even merely to stand, he kept a steady pace and took long strides all the way down the street. The apartment door lay open with only the light of the hallway streaming inside its grey, empty rooms.


	5. In Which Her Mind Lies

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_Chapter Five: In Which Her Mind Lies.  
_

* * *

As the Scarecrow pressed his ear against the thick wood, his gloves knuckles came up near his face and gently knocked on the door. His liquid voice called softly, "Dahlia ..." Again he knocked, and again. "Dahlia ... Are you finally prepared to calm down?"  
"Get bent." She hissed back with a sneer. Once again, she examined her prison; The window-less walls were all wooden, and yet when she had tried to break through them, concrete lay on the other side. The floor, too, was cold concrete, and bare. Looking up to the ceiling, it was littered with broken and dusty support beams, one particular corner having been made home to a large spider's web. Her guess? A basement somewhere. Probably not in the confinements of Gotham, and probably not anywhere near other law-abiding residents. 

Another throb pulsed through Dahlia's head, and as she groaned to herself, she pressed her hand to the back of her head, where underneath her hair she could feel the bump Crane had earlier placed on her. His voice came back through the door. "I do apologize for knocking you silent, Dahlia ... but you really were making quite the fuss. I couldn't risk us getting noticed by the good policemen of the city." She didn't reply, and slunk to the back of the room and away from the door, glaring at it. A pause. "Anyway ... I suppose you've realized that Jack and Artemis are my two accomplices, hm?"  
"That's a no-brainer." Her attitude shot off again. "Now tell me something I don't know. What did they try to inject me with at the party?"

Another pause. "It's time for me to go now, Dahlia. We'll talk again soon in the future." His footsteps receded until she couldn't hear them anymore. She was left alone in the dim room, her solitude fueling her frustration until she couldn't contain it.  
"Come back here you coward!" The sole of her foot came at the door hard, a loud thump resonating in the silent area. "Tell me where my father is, damn you!" Her fists pounded on the door over and over as she screamed at him.

But a reply came from within the same room. " 'Feisty' is a good word for you." Startled, Dahlia gave a quiet yelp and nearly tripped as she spun to face Jack. The t-shirt hugging his muscled torso gave his strong arms little room to move as his hands went to clasp behind his back. He leaned back slightly and smiled. "You're a pretty fearless girl, aren't you?" Offering no such reply, Dahlia exhaled sharply through her nostrils in disgust of seeing him, then looked away from him. "Well, other than Dr. Crane, I guess ... You hide your fear of him pretty well."

A lot of good her questions had done! Yet she couldn't refrain from asking them. Turning to face him again, she asked very quietly through her rage, "Why am I so important? Why are you keeping me alive? Is this stupid room just one step in Crane's revenge plans against me, or what? What the hell is going on?" And she repeated her question clearly. "Why am I such an asset to you all?"  
"Because you're the Banshee."  
"Don't ever call me that again." Dahlia's voice raised quite a few notches as she pointed at him with wide, angry eyes. For several moments she was frozen in her physical threat, then finally dropped her arm and exhaled. Then she asked another question. "I never was the Banshee. She's dead."

Jack continued smiling. He scanned her up and down, and when their eyes met again, he took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. The wrinkles in his shirt shifted and moved as his hands toyed with something out of Dahlia's view, hidden by his body. As he took a few steps forward, Dahlia stepped back and lifted her arm horizontally across her upper body defensively. "Hey ..." He stopped in his tracks, and gave a short laugh as his smile spread into a grin. Hearing the fluttering sound of a crinkled material, she then saw a plastic bag fall to the floor behind him.

"What are you doing?" Jack's smile was wiped away, and then he rushed forward and grabbed Dahlia as she shrieked. He pressed her up against the wall and subdued her fighting with a powerful arm across her shoulders, and the side of his body at her hips, preventing her legs from kicking. A free hand then slapped a damp cloth over her nose and mouth, and almost instantly her screams stopped. Her eyelids fell and her entire body went limp, and within probably no longer than a second, she was asleep.

But it couldn't have been chloroform. Whatever was used on her was too fast and too foul smelling to be that. Dahlia only concluded that if it was so potent enough to grab her attention, it was probably a little invention from the Scarecrow.

When she finally gained consciousness, her ears first picked up the chatter of the thugs. A voice that she concluded must have been Art's was speaking with most authority at the moment. "... million. And that doesn't cover the full extent of the plan. So we better get cracking, kiddies." Then Jack's less excited tone went.  
"You heard the man. And Dr. Crane would be quite disappointed if we fail him again. At least this time we did get Miss Rhodes here."  
"Bah!" Art interrupted him. "I don't see the point of us going to so much trouble, just so he can have her." Dahlia felt the couch cushions beneath her dip down, first at her knees then working up to her torso. Art's voice was directly above her, his tone disgustingly chipper. "I'd really like keeping her as a pet for myself. She's got such a personality ... And just look at those beautiful lips." Dahlia's eyelids opened just in time to see Art smile down at her and lean in for a kiss.

And a sudden swift kick into his torso tumbled him over the back of the couch with a pained shout as laughter and mocking conversation erupted among the thugs. What luck! She sat up quickly, scared and rattled, and looked about the room in shock. Around five to six thugs were lazing about several chairs, another few leaning back against the wooden walls of the house. As she suspected, it was a rickety house probably out in the middle of nowhere. The painted windows wouldn't reveal if it were day or night.

Continuing to observe her surroundings, her eyes eventually came to see the Scarecrow standing above her, his angered eyes peeking out through his mask towards where Art was so gingerly tossed. Removing the umber colored leather jacket, Crane tossed it on the arm of the couch as he spoke very calmly. "If any of you ..." He looked around to each of them. "... dare to take Miss Rhodes as your own ... then I advise that daring individual to be prepared for swift death."

Artemis finally got off the floor with a grunt, and he backed away from Crane quickly to join several of his teammates against the back wall. Crane continued. "She is mine, and mine alone. Are we clear?" The thugs all muttered their share of agreement, though Art remained bitterly silent.  
"Now get out. All of you. Prepare the first test." And when they all scattered, Art was the only one to hesitate, though eventually left when Jack gave him a soft shove. Once it was silent, Crane sat on the couch next to Dahlia, leaning back in relaxation and resting his ankle to the other leg's knee.

A sigh escaped his lips, and he stared ahead for several moments, thinking. Dahlia remained still, afraid to make any movements. Her muscles were only tender enough to allow her to breath, but nothing more. Her eyes patrolled the room several times before she heard the rustling of cloth. Looking to the Scarecrow, she observed him loosening the noose around his neck, then pulling the burlap material away from his slender neck. He pulled the mask up and off of his head, his locks falling with gravity, free from their confinements. She couldn't look at him anymore.

Those icicles, those crystal blue hues of his always gave him such a convenient charismatic advantage over others. Anyone who looked into them, Dahlia felt, would fall under his spell. He was the most talented con man she ever knew.

"Dahlia ..." Crane began, his eyes narrowing in curiosity. He mentioned the subject without bitterness. "... Do you remember when you gave me this scar?" Then his head turned to look at her, the scars from their long-ago violent encounter still very much visible.  
"Of course I do." She replied, refusing to look at him. "You deserved it."  
"Aw." Crane smirked, and gave a mad smile. "But really ... How different is the man before you now then the one you knew before?"  
Sneering, Dahlia dropped her guard and glared at him. "Because you were once a good person. Not some raving lunatic."

Crane shifted to turn more towards her, leaning closer to her. It made her uncomfortable. "Now Dahlia, do you think I ever was a good man?"

They were both quiet. Dahlia, at that moment, felt ... stupid. What a fool for continuing to have some shred of idiotic hope that he really was a good person at one time. Maybe he was, years and years ago when he was a child, but definitely not any time recently. It was here she realized that she had to let go of that idyllic belief. Crane was pure evil. He was nothing of what she had thought him to be, ever. Never did he think to protect her, or be her friend. Never! Strength gave itself to her after that horrible experience months ago, and now she had to revive it in order to continue to grow. 

... But it was so hard when he seemed to inch closer and closer to her.

"I was so disappointed when you had me sent to Arkham ... Really, I was."  
"What are you doing?" Dahlia leaned back further. He was leaning closer to her, staring at her, a soft smile lining his lips.  
"Quite crushed, actually ... But you had come to see me, hadn't you?" Dahlia meanwhile swallowed the obstruction in her throat. Crane's arm reached up to rest on the back of the couch, blocking her in. "I remember seeing you. You looked so ... alone."  
"Stop it."  
"I really was the only person you had, wasn't I? The only friend you had. The only person who wouldn't raise their hand to you. I was the person you ran to when you were cast out of your own home. Not by last resort ... but by choice ... Wasn't that the case?"  
"I said stop it!" Dahlia tried to sit up and push him away, but his hand came to plant itself on the side of her rib cage. He wasn't holding her down too firmly, and it was disturbingly affectionate.

"Don't act so surprised Dahlia. There was a portion of this pathetic rag that did like you. Quite a bit I might add ..."


	6. In Which He Presents a Clue

* * *

_Chapter Six: In Which He Presents a Clue_

_

* * *

  
_

The dusty cushions could only give in so far, and when Dahlia found that she couldn't move back anymore, she was stuck cringing under Crane's shadow. Once she felt his slow, steady, hot breath on her face, her eyes shut tight and she let out a soft groan of unimaginable discomfort. His face lightly grazed her skin, goose bumps traveling up the back of her neck as she remained still, completely unknown of what he would do next. Several seconds later, she felt him press his lips firmly to her forehead, then pull away.

Crane sighed again. "It's only a shame that you didn't turn out more ... malleable." His hand patted her cheek, then he stood and walked away.

It didn't take a person of high intelligence to figure out that, pretty much, the only thing running through Dahlia's head was, "_What the hell just happened_?" Her eyes remained shut, and her lips curled into a frown, her cheeks flushed. How many times within the past year did she have to feel this way? The frustration so powerful it made her want to rip the head off of a human being and throw it as hard as she could at a brick wall. All the emotions, all the hundreds of human emotions zooming around in her chest, pummeling at the others, creating that knot within her insides that almost choked the air out of her. It made her want to vomit.

What kind of sick person would lust after him after all they went through? Dahlia, that's who! God, all she needed to do was off herself and it would be over! She was just as bad as he was!

... But she kept trying to tell herself that it was only because of that lingering memory. There are many kinds of love after all. Dahlia kept trying to calm herself down by telling herself that the kind of love she possessed was natural. The love of the memory. Not the person in particular, but the good memories, all the positives, the idyllic person. The smell of their shampoo, or the sound of their familiar voice. That's it; Familiarity! She was just in some sort of bizarre love with the man that treated her good. Though the true person behind the man was a lie, she was still in love with his eyes, his hair, his smile ...

Yeah ... Her classes under Crane payed off besides getting her straight A's in school.

After a while, Crane called Dahlia from what she assumed was the kitchen. It took a couple of minutes before she could stand up again, and without much apprehension, she walked towards the sound of his voice. Once there, standing amongst the oddly clean counter tops, she noticed that Crane had once again donned the mask and was standing near the refrigerator. Beside it was a large silver door to the freezer, whose handle the Scarecrow grasped. "I'd like you to observe a demonstration," he said with some zeal.

Pulling the freezer door open, it revealed a passageway leading down a narrow corridor. He led Dahlia down, down, down ... until they came to a large cellar. Obviously the place had been redone to satisfy their needs, and the continued expansion of the underground lair was present in the old wood panels holding some of the corners together. It looked similar to the lab Crane had in the basement of his old home.

"You're not _quite_ like other girls, Dahlia, but I'll assume you've got that soft spot for animals ..." The Scarecrow spoke as he headed to an animal kennel near the corner. As Dahlia followed him, she noticed that inside it was a single white rabbit, eating from a bowl of pellets in the corner. The closer she got, she made out several foxes in the opposite corner, moving with some panic as they scurried around one another to cram themselves further back in the cage.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "... You trained foxes to fear rabbits?"

"Take a closer inspection, my dear." He wagged a finger at her, then opened the kennel door and scooped the rabbit up. Slowly he turned to face Dahlia, and with a firm grip as to not throw the tiny animal, he thrust it forward at her ... and much to her surprise, she jerked back in terror, giving out a sharp gasp.

"What the hell ... ?!"

"You're terrified, Dahlia. Of a harmless rabbit. You're terrified of it, just like those foxes."

Her arms raised in defense, Dahlia only lowered them once the Scarecrow had put the rabbit back inside the kennel, terrorizing the foxes once again, who leapt and bound into their containing walls to no avail. Though confused as to how this was possible, she didn't bother to give Crane te satisfaction of grabbing her curiosity by asking about it. She did comment however, "I wonder what the effect on humans would be then ... huh?" Didn't take a genius to figure out that he wasn't going to use his "invention" on solely animals.

"We shall find out soon enough, won't we? Now then, this way, my love."

"You do not have permission to call me by such a name." Dahlia was done with his games already. That last move irked her enough to keep her cool and to keep herself from succumbing to any silly, affectionate doubts or longings ...

Lost in her own contemplations, Dahlia didn't immediately notice what Crane was doing next. She only snapped out of it when she heard his fuzzy voice interrupt, "I have another little treat to show you, Dahlia ..." Clearing her head and touching back down on Earth, she looked towards him. In front of his torso, with both hands, he held a delicate-looking, yet strangely thick piece of straw. The first experiment confused her enough, this one seemed just plain ... embarrassing.

Of course, it took her a moment to realize that it wasn't a demonstration per se. Crane smiled behind his mask and cracked the piece of straw in half; clearly it was a vial in which he stored some sort of knock-out gas, as within seconds the cloud of smoke had engulfed her and lured her to sleep.


End file.
